To Serve Man
by Wirral Bagpuss
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is concerned about his troubled Boswell and discovers a secret from his past. A short drabble which I hope you will enjoy!


**To Serve Man**

_Into whatever houses I enter, I will go into them for the benefit of the sick_

_Hippocratic Oath_

It was a cold November evening. Sherlock Holmes ignored the rain pounding the windows of his Baker Street flat and steepled his hands in concentration as he tackled a singular problem that was personal to him. His Boswell and biographer Dr John Watson had been coming and going from Baker Street and had said very little about his movements except to say he was making house calls. Holmes closed his eyes in meditation as he focused on the problem in hand. _Watson is wearing his heavy coat, that would indicate he is not merely just doing house calls but also outside in the elements too. There are dark rings under his eyes. The hallmarks of sleepless nights. And he is barely talking. Watson has the gift of silence and is a conductor of light, but this is not my Watson! _Concluded Holmes as he snapped open his eyes worriedly.

Holmes got up and stoked the coal fire that was threatening to die out and heaped more coal onto the dying embers of the previous coal fire in the hope that it would soon rise like a phoenix and warm his living room. He poked the fire in frustration and worry. Watson would be back soon. He needed to help his friend but how? Holmes walked over to the window overlooking Baker Street in two long strides. He observed the street scene outside. _Teenage ruffian on an errand for his criminal lodger, elderly man walking with hesitation clutching a piece of paper. He was probably guilty of some infidelity, and there is the night watchmen getting ready to light the street oil lamps. _

Bored by the activity outside Holmes turned and looked at Watson's desk and smiled fondly. A writer's desk. Blotting paper and stamp, ink pot, pen lying on the table and various papers. And then Holmes saw it. A letter with an emblem of a red cross on it. Holmes could not prevent his curiosity from getting the better of him and began to scan its contents.

_November 1870_

_Dear Dr Watson_

_In recognition of your valour and determination in laying the foundations of the British Red Cross Society, we hereby award you this medal to honour your role as founding member of the Society and all the valuable work and fundraising you have already given for so many years._

_Yours sincerely_

_Dr Joseph Arthur King_

Holmes stood in silence stunned. He would never fully know the depths of his friend's compassion and caring nature. And this was something he had not known about Watson. Holmes picked up the medal that was underneath the letter he had picked up. A gold medal with Watson's name inscribed on the back and an inscription

_A vigoratus quisnam acted per virtus in agri of adversum_

Holmes nodded in agreement with the inscription. Watson was a healer of men and acted with valour on so many occasions.

Holmes heard the front door close downstairs and weary footsteps climb the seventeen steps up to their lounge. The footsteps were slow and Holmes concern grew as the footsteps faulted on a step. He could wait no more and leapt over the couch, flung open the door and rushed down to aid an exhausted Watson up the remaining steps and half carried him over to the couch where Holmes took his sodden coat off, laid him out, placing a cushion behind Watson's head, undid his shoes and proceeded to pour out a brandy for his exhausted friend who gratefully accepted it.

"Sorry Holmes" Watson whispered apologetically.

"No need to be my dear Watson, you are exhausted, you really must stop working yourself into the ground over guilt you need not carry with you". Replied Holmes worriedly, with a hint of frustration.

Watson looked up and met the grey eyes of a very worried Sherlock Holmes. He sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to explain to Holmes the truth. _He would deduce it anyway before long_ thought Watson wryly.

"Holmes I know I am tired, but I am fine. I have been helping some of my less well-off patients who can't afford to make the journey to my surgery".

Holmes raised his hand. He knew Watson was holding back.

"Watson, this week is the anniversary of something that took place twenty years ago that has caused you to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, please, tell me what happened, why did you get this medal?" said Holmes softly who slowly unfolded his hand to reveal the medal.

Watson started with a cry, but Holmes had anticipated this.

"I was standing by the window when I turned to look at your writing desk and the letter was there and the medal too".

Watson berated himself for his carelessness. In his exhaustion he had forgotten to place the items back in his drawer. It was not Holmes's fault.

"Now that you know Holmes, I may as well tell you the whole story if you are interested in hearing it?" replied Watson resignedly.

Holmes placed a hand on Watson's shoulder and smiled replying

"Of course I would Watson, I would be honoured"

Watson took a gulp of the brandy, it's fire burned into his chest, expelling any remaining chills of the night and over the course of the next hour Watson talked of how he had been involved in creating the British Red Cross in England, and of the terrible few nights not long after the formation of the society, when he was called out to help with an influenza outbreak, in which so many children died. Watson broke down as he relived the terrible ordeal. Holmes came over and sat next to Watson who buried his head into Holmes and sobbed.

"Sssh it is not your fault Watson, you did everything you could" Holmes said softly and held Watson tightly. Exhaustion finally claimed Watson and Holmes tenderly eased Watson back against his pillow and gently placed a blanket over him. Holmes stood up and went over to his violin case and opened it, taking out his violin and bow and began to play. The gentle sounds of Bach's No 1 Sonata soothed Watson's troubled mind and before long he was lost to the embrace of Morpheus.

Holmes laid down his violin and bow. He would watch over Watson tonight. He turned and faced the coal fire, its flames dancing and flickering, burning brightly. Holmes took Watson's medal out of his pocket and clutched it tightly. He had often told Watson that he was a conductor of light. He knew Watson was much more than that. Watson was a shining beacon of hope and of the best in humanity. Holmes picked up a play of Shakespeare he had been reading but Holmes felt the heavy weight of Morpheus also begin to claim him, before doing so, Holmes eyes wearily focused on a passage within the play

_"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world." __Merchant of Venice William Shakespeare_

Holmes smiled fondly. It was so like his Watson. _A man I am proud and __honoured to call my friend_. Holmes eyes closed as he could stave off sleep no more and soon followed Watson into the gentle embrace of Morpheus.

Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson would face so many dangers together, butthey would always be bound to serve man together. Two shining beacons in a world of darkness and evil. Their light would always illuminate the darkest ofdays until the last rising sun.


End file.
